Gemotions

The attic felt cool against Eleanor's skin as she ventured inside. She'd spent a challenging morning at work, but now, surrounded by the quiet stillness of the house, she felt centered. She spotted a collection of old books, their covers faded but intact. She loved old books.

She pulled down a leather-bound journal. The pages were filled with elegant cursive handwriting. She found the first entry. The writer had described the very same attic. "It is a sanctuary," it read. Eleanor felt a quiet thrill run through her.

She settled on the floor, the journal in her lap. The weight of the words, the intimacy of the unknown writer's thoughts, provided a kind of solace she had not known she was seeking. Her shoulders seemed to drop a little, and she felt her heartbeat slow.